First Daughter Ivanka Trump is going to get some flak for this paragraph in her new book, Women Who Work: Rewriting the Rules for Success:
During extremely high-capacity times, like during the campaign, I went into survival mode: I worked and I was with my family; I didn’t do much else. Honestly, I wasn’t treating myself to a massage or making much time for self-care. I wish I could have awoken early to meditate for twenty minutes and I would have loved to catch up with the friends I hadn’t seen in three months, but there just wasn’t enough time in the day. And sometimes that happens. [Emphasis added.]
No doubt, the presidential campaign made considerable demands on Ivanka’s time and energy. But for the average American, who has less than $1,000 in savings, the inability to fit a massage onto the calendar can’t be the most relatable of problems.
Ivanka’s not alone in lamenting the difficulties of life at the top of American politics, of course. “I loved my previous life,” her father recently remarked, sounding almost nostalgic. “I had so many things going. This is more work than in my previous life. I thought it would be easier.”
Hillary Clinton, too, famously complained that she and her husband were “dead broke” when they left the White House, ignoring the millions they subsequently made trading off of their name and proximity to power. Last year she declared that she was judged unfairly, complaining, “I often feel like there’s the Hillary standard and then there’s the standard for everybody else.”
Maybe the Trumps and Clintons learned it from watching the Obamas. “Both Josh [Earnest] and I probably have our disagreements with the press corps and feel picked on and misunderstood,” President Obama told student journalists in April of last year. “It is very hard to get good stories placed.”
“People don’t really understand how hard this is. And it’s not something you just cavalierly just ask a family to do again,” Michelle Obama declared in January. “Let me just tell America, This is hard. It’s a hard job it requires a lot of sacrifice.” Among those sacrifices: “You know, there’s nowhere I can go in the world and just sit at a table and have a cup of coffee and watch the world.”
Whine, whine, whine, whine, whine.
Look, everybody, you asked for these jobs. You spent years, sometimes the bulk of your adult lives, taking steps to strive for these jobs. These jobs give you power, wealth, influence, status, and a quality of life unimaginable to most Americans. No one snuck up behind you, tossed you in a windowless van, and forced you to become a presidential candidate.
If you’re at the highest levels of politics, your life has probably turned out okay in a lot of important ways.
No doubt, the life of a political candidate or elected official is challenging. Everyone in the world gets to evaluate the job you’ve done. You’re expected to be gracious and attentive and concerned in every public appearance. If you serve in Congress, you often have to commute between Washington and your home state. Work demands time that you would rather spend with family. You get criticized all the time, and lashing out in response usually looks bad. While you may seem wealthy to the average American, you spend an inordinate amount of time asking even richer people for donations.
But come on, people. Ask any coal miner or janitor or construction worker if they wouldn’t rather hold elected office for a living.
Though “check your privilege” may be an insufferable sneer usually aimed at delegitimizing arguments with which the sneerer disagrees, the phrase’s kinder cousin, “Count your blessings,” is always wise advice. If you’re at the highest levels of politics, your life has probably turned out okay in a lot of important ways: You likely don’t have to worry about money or finding a new job if you’re booted from office, and you get to make an impact on people’s lives every day. In the big picture, you have very little to complain about . . . so don’t complain!
Legendary football coach Lou Holtz once advised, “Never tell your problems to anyone. . . . 20 percent don’t care and the other 80 percent are glad you have them.” That’s probably a cynical assessment, but generally good advice — particularly if you’re lucky enough to reach the halls of power.
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